Times They Are A Changing
by Jcon52
Summary: Blake Matthews is left to pick up the pieces of his life after his world comes crashing down around him and he is introduced to a whole new world, one completely different from his old one.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey guys, this is my first fanfiction in a while and the first for Supernatural so I would appreciate reviews to tell me what I can work on and any ideas you may have. Definitely point out any grammar mistakes I make (there will be some) because I like to convince myself that I'm infallible when it comes to grammar.**  
_

_The light filtered through windows, bouncing off the dust in the air, and illuminating the room in an eerie green glow. The walls were streaked with blood, the crimson liquid a harsh contrast to the off-white paint. In the middle of the room were three chairs all facing outwards, with three figures facing outwards. On the floor was a man, lying face down with a pool of blood radiating out from it. I walked closer to the body, carefully placing my feet, avoiding the patches of blood. Upon reaching the body I knelt down and flipped him over, but when he fell on his back I stared in shock at his face. There were no facial features at all, just a smooth patch of skin. Startled, I stumbled back, bumping into one of the people tied to the chair._

_ "Blake, I'm surprised you came back," a deep rumbling voice said, from on of the dark corners of the room, "I'd have thought you knew to stay away."_

_ I turned towards the voice, my fists curling up, my teeth clenched. In the corner was a dark figure, whose face was completely obscured by shadows, with only a strange red glow coming from his eyes. I moved towards the figure, now ignoring the three hostages, but my body was suddenly unable to move. No muscle would respond other than my head._

_ "Who are you?" I asked, my eyes still struggling to see anything to hint at who the dark figure was._

_ "I'm your reckoning," he replied, stepping forward. Now a line of light fell across his face and I could see a sharp, hooked nose with two glowing eyes, the same color as the blood streaked on the walls. "Your father has been quite the thorn in my side for some time, but as you can see I've taken care of him. But how do I know he didn't teach his son some of the tricks of the trade? I need to cover all the bases and of course your sisters and your mother were just icing on the cake."_

_ "I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," I spat back, "You're insane."_

_ As the man opened his mouth in retort I heard a loud crash behind me and suddenly a bright, white light came upon the room like a blazing star. I heard heavy boots pounding on the old, wooden floorboards and a strong arm wrapped around me, pulling me back. _

_ "Amadeus, I should have figured you would come here," the man standing in front of me growled. Wasting no time, the man whipped out a revolver and shot at the other man, but as I watched the bullet stopped in midair and dropped to the floor with a ping._

_ As I watched the two men stare at each other, the room soon began to get fuzzier and fuzzier until it was pitch black. My body soon lost all sense of weight and I began to float in nothingness._

"Blake?" a gruff voice asked, and I felt a rough punch to my arm. I groggily sat up and rubbed my eyes. I looked around in the car, a dusty old black Mustang with squeaky leather seats, and looked out the window. Shooting by us, I saw fields of wheat and corn covering acres and acres.

"Yeah?" I replied, "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Kansas, I think," Ben replied, and then looked at me, surveying me with a curious look, "You had another nightmare. It sounded worse this time. More tossing."

"You _think_ we're Kansas?" I retorted, rolling down my window and breathing in the dry air, "I'm pretty sure that's one of the things you're supposed to be keeping track of."

Ben grunted and then fell silent, fiddling with the static-y radio. I flipped through Ben's brown, leather journal, the pages yellowed with age. I thumbed through the pages, my eyes gliding over the words, but never actually reading a single one. Running through my head was the dream, the same one I'd been having for weeks now, but this time it was longer. This time Ben actually made an appearance in it. For weeks it had merely been Amadeus and I in my living room; I would always be filled with a crushing sense of despair, but with Ben in the dream it was different. Him being there made me lose some of the despair, merely to be replaced with anger. Blinding, uncontainable anger.

"So where are we headed next?" I asked, not looking up from his journal.

"Whig, Kansas. There have been some murders recently that look like they could be our kind of thing. All the victims have been middle-aged men, most were well off, and all of them are married. They seem to be leaving their wives considerable sums of money," Ben explained and I could feel his eyes on me waiting for a reaction.

"Coven of witches?" I asked, still pretending to be engrossed in Ben's journal, "Could have planned the murders, get rid of their husbands, get the money, easy deal."

"I was thinking that too, but this doesn't seem to match the usual M.O. of witches, but I think we're going to look into it," Ben said as he rummaged in the bag lying on the center console until he found a folder. "This is my research, catch up on it. I've also put your I.D. in there, we're going in as state troopers."

I mumbled in agreement and grabbed the folder. Opening it up I spread the sheets across my lap and began to read up on Whig, Kansas.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, guys, here's the newest chapter, hope you all like it. Let me know how I'm doing! Thanks**

"State troopers, eh? You seem a little young," the coroner said, pointing his wrinkled finger at me. We stood outside the morgue with the coroner who, in his extreme old age, was moving at a glacial pace. He looked down at his keys, flipping through them in his hands as he tried to find the right one.

"Right… Errrr, student deputy program, got fast tracked and all that," I answered, awkwardly, "Not enough troopers."

"Damn kids these days," the coroner replied, opening up the door and I shot Ben a look, "Only want to play video games and go on their Facebooks."

"Yeah, we're the worst," I sighed as we followed the man into the room. On the two stainless steel tables were bodies covered by light blue cloths. As the coroner turned on the lights, the harsh incandescent bulbs sent light rays bouncing off the stainless steel that was everywhere in the room.

"The first victim suffered the least extensive injuries, and from there the other two victims experienced exponentially more injuries. It seems as if the murder was having…. _Fun_… with it," the coroner explained, uncovering the head and torso of the first victim, unceremoniously.

The corpse was incredibly pale, as if it hadn't seen sun in months. The face was expressionless; all his features were relaxed, but still remained tense looking. Covering his body were cuts of varying sizes, but none of them were clean, they were all jagged and purple bruises covering the rest of the body. I felt bile rising up in my throat, an acidic bubbling of vomit, but I swallowed it down roughly.

"This is the _first_ victim?" I asked, "The others can't have more injuries than this…"

The coroner just looked at me sadly and moved over to the next body. He paused before lifting the sheet as Ben and I moved next to him. This time my stomach didn't hesitate before emptying its contents all over the floor, the acid tearing at my throat. Ben glanced at me, mostly with distaste, and moved slightly away from me as I finished dry heaving. Eventually my stomach was completely empty as I pulled myself up and I caught a sight of the body once again.

The man's head was almost completely torn off, the laceration almost all the way across his neck. His chest had ribs poking out of, the skin had been ripped apart, and it no way resembled any human's chest. I turned away, my knees buckling, and managed to stumble out of the room, with heavy footsteps following me.

"What the fuck was that?" Ben demanded, clamping his huge hand down on my shoulder and squeezing it tightly, "You need to keep it together. We run across this shit in our line of work; that's nowhere near the worst of it either. Now get your shit together, I'm going to finish up here. I want you to talk to the first victim's wife, try to keep your lunch in your stomach…. If there's any left."

I wrinkled my nose as I stood in the bright living room, my senses being assaulted with an overwhelming smell of flowery perfume that the occupant seemed to have doused the room with it. The woman had shown me into her living room while she hurried into her kitchen to bring me lemonade, which I had tried to refuse. When she came back she was carrying a large pitcher of lemonade, complete with a cut lemon on the rim, and two cups. She ushered me to the large, plush couch, shining in the sunlight coming in from the large, bay windows.

"Now, Mrs. Brecker, do you mind telling me about your husband? Was he acting… differently in his last days, or even weeks?" I asked, pulling out a pen and notepad. I looked up at her and she was smiling, as she poured us tall cups of lemonade.

"No… No, not at all. He seemed the same," she answered in a voice that tinkled like bells, "Richard was always such a sweet soul, he would bring me flowers just whenever the mood struck him."

We fell into silence as she stared into the distance, but what I saw as her trying to look sad, was merely a face of… Discomfort. It appeared as if she had no idea of what emotion to express, or how to go about showing that.

"Right…" I continued, shifting uncomfortably, "Were there any people who were hanging around more than usual? Strangers showing up at your door, perhaps?"

Mrs. Brecker shook herself and a look of concentration fell across her face before she answered, "Well…. Now that you mention it…. The town's priest, Father Dave, was talking to Richard a lot. We were never religious before, Richard hadn't been to church in the longest time, but suddenly it became very important for him to have a relationship with God."

Mrs. Brecker spat out the last word, as if it tasted wrong percolating in her mouth. I looked back down at my notepad and wrote "FATHER DAVE" in large letters and underlined it several times, this was our only lead right then, especially since Ben seemed to have struck out at the coroner's office.

"Alright, Mrs. Brecker, thank you for your time," I said, standing up, "That's all the questions I have for now, but if you need anything don't hesitate to call, my number is on the business card."

We shook hands and I handed her the business card and quickly walked out of the house, catching a familiar scent as I walked out the front door. Standing on the sidewalk, I whipped out my phone and quickly dialed Ben's number.

"Hey," I began, and continued along without anymore preamble, "I got a lead on a 'Father Dave', he's the priest in town, was hanging around with the victim before he died. I'm going to stop by the church; it's on the way. I'll meet you at the bar, later…. Right, yeah, I'll see you then."

I began walking towards the church, which was only a two blocks away while I stared around the neighborhood. All of the houses were upscale homes, with immaculately polished lawns and high-end cars all parked in the driveways. As I turned the corner I almost walked past the church; it was a small ordeal, set in the back of a lot with high grass and a few tombstones in a gated part to the side. As I walked down the cobblestoned path I stared at the stone church, noticing the beat up blocks and the derelict masonry.

"Hi! Can I help you?" A voice called out as I reached for the door. I looked over and saw a man in black robes kneeling in some high grass, pulling out weeds. As I moved towards him, he stood up and brushed his hands on his robes and stuck on out for a handshake.

"Hi, I'm Blake Smith from the State Police and I'm looking into the death of Richard Brecker," I began, while shaking his hand, "Mr. Brecker's widow told m that you had been spending a lot of time with him before his death and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

The Father's face turned dark when I said Richard's name and he nodded solemnly. Gesturing widely with his arm he led me into his small church, the large wooden doors creaking as we opened them.


End file.
